Bunnies and Muses
by nightquills
Summary: Here, plot bunnies and muses have their way.
1. Body Wash

**So, the first few chapters are going to be a few slightly-edited drabbles that I'd previously written—just a warning so you know that updates will be very irregular and erratic after these ones are all up.**

* * *

Romano is the kind of person that uses liquid body soap. It's a nice vanilla scent... And it drives Spain crazy.

Every time they take a shower together, Spain has to endure the enticing scent and sight of Romano rubbing the white soap, thick and slightly iridescent, all over his body.

It reminds the Spaniard just a little bit too much of other white substances all over Romano's body.

Antonio usually slams Romano against the wall right underneath the shower head around this time.

His actions are generally met with a "Fuck, that's freezing!", and then the little Italian is just a tad too preoccupied to care much about the contrast of the cold tile on his back to the warm water and body in front of him.

* * *

**Requests will at least be taken into consideration.**

**-Nightquills **


	2. Catch

**God, this pairing still gets to me.**

* * *

They're walking up the stairs after a long day of work gathering the vegetables from Spain's fields, and Romano trips up the stairs.

How someone manages to do something like that Spain doesn't know, but he automatically reaches forward and grabs both sides of Romano's hips so he doesn't fall forward and hurt himself.

His hands have landed on an exposed patch of skin, and he feels the muscles tense slightly under his fingers.

He rubs his fingers lightly before letting go, not saying a word, because he knows that the Italian is tired and irritable, and poking fun right now is only going to make the smaller man angry. An angry Lovi right before bed he won't let him pull him close before they fall asleep.

They trudge up the rest of the stairs, feet dragging, and stumble into the bedroom. Neither of them even bother to change into their pajamas, simply taking off the dirt-stained pants and sweaty shirts sticking irritatingly to their backs.

They lie down, and the Spaniard carefully scoots over until he is cradling the other man in his arms.

He hears a mumbled thank you, and he smiles because he knows that Romano only says it when he really means it, and he knows that he isn't just thanking him for catching him right before he fell.


	3. Hair Clip

The day after she left to go back to Italy, he finds one of her hair clips forgotten underneath the bed. She has tons of them, he knows, and won't miss one. She's always leaving things behind anyways.

Feliciana don't even keep up the pretense of sleeping in "her" room anymore; it's his room where she drops her bag when she arrives, his room she sleeps in. A smile unconsciously creeps upon his face as he shakes his head.

He stands from his crouched position and walks over to the dresser, where the top two drawers are hers. He flexes the clip in his hands, opening is as far as it goes and then releasing it. As he does so, the memory of her fruity scented hair pops into his head.

He lifts the clip to eye level, cheeks reddening, and sniffs the curved prongs. There, he's able to faintly smell her fragrant cantaloupe shampoo.

He quickly draws it back from his nose and puts into a drawer, closing it quickly and turning away. Though he knows it's irrational and illogical, he feels like someone is watching him act like the lovestruck school boy he might as well be.


	4. The Problems of Being a Nation, Part 1

**Headcanon: the countries can't help but know the lyrics/tunes for the popular songs in their countries due to how many of their people are listening to them. *shrugs***

* * *

"Really, Alfred?"

"What? What did I do this time?"

"If you hadn't noticed, you were just humming Katy Perry."

"I was not!"

"If you'd like to live in denial, fine."

Arthur received a pout at this. "I'm much more of a rock person."

A not-so-subtle eyeroll was given in America's direction.

"Fine, maybe I was… But Iggy, you know it's not my fault she's in the top charts."

"That doesn't mean you have to give in to the urge to hum the top five!"

"Like you're one to talk—was that Jason Derulo I heard you singing the other day?"

"It bloody well was not!"


	5. Begging

"I do not think this—"

"Ve, Kiku, relax! What he doesn't know can't hurt him."

"Feliciano, I would like to point out that—"

"But Kiku, look at them staring up at us~. How could you refuse those eyes?"

The country in question glanced down at the dogs at their knees. They were staring up at the two countries, or rather the freshly cooked meat balls in their hands, with pitiful expressions.

"And just think, Germany probably trains them like he used to train us; all hard work with no breaks or treats!" Feli pouted here to accentuate his point, bending over to stroke the head of the nearest tawny-faced German shepherd.

"But what if they are on a special diet? Ludwig would not be pleased for that to be ruined, and what if they got sick?", Japan said as he tried and failed to be the voice of reason.

"One each won't hurt, I promise!"

The Italian turned his own puppy eyes to Kiku.

With a soft put upon sigh, he responded, "...Alright."

Feliciano, contrary to his word, could not stop giving once the tail wagging began.

"So cute," he crooned.

* * *

Needless to say, the German was displeased and rather confused when he realized that a pound of hamburger meat had mysteriously disappeared.


	6. Stuffed Animal

Lovino would never admit it, but he had slept with a stuffed animal well into high school.

It wasn't like he cuddled it or anything—he wasn't five!—but he kept it at the top of his pillow. It sat there, a little bit ragged but still soft, watching over him as he slept.

Fuck you if you'd never thought your toys were real. Lovino had grown up with Toy Story, and of course it had left an impression.

He didn't actually want it to get up and talk to him; what about all the embarrassing things he'd done in his room when no one is there, all the times he'd sung off-key on purpose, all the times he'd danced like a fool? No, he didn't want the little fucker to be able to remember or even comprehend his complete and utter stupidity.

He just hoped that maybe the thing would act like a good luck charm, keep nightmares away or something. He liked to think that it worked, that the faded little bull fought them away before he could experience them.

Of course, that all ended when Nonno died in front of his eyes.

* * *

**Hmmm, just a hint of angst here. I couldn't help myself lol**

**-Nightquills**


	7. Not Pity, Per Se

**Okay, okay, this was a request, and I don't really read about these characters, so please excuse any mischaracterizations or OOC-ness.**

* * *

It's chance that they ended up standing in the lunch line together. Yao noted in the back of his head how weird it was to see the younger girl without her brother at her side, but other than giving a quick yet polite "Hello", decided to say nothing of it.

That is, until he looked back on his way to a table and sees her staring around with a lost look on her face. It's not pity, per se, that drives him to walk back towards her, but he doesn't know the name of what exactly it is.

"You look lost, aru."

"Ja—I mean, yes." At this, she blushed embarrassedly and looked at the floor.

"If you want, you could sit with me and my siblings."

"…Thank you."

Yao turned and walked deeper into the cafeteria, dodging past numerous countries and their aides to do so with Lilli at his side. It isn't often that their conference places had cafeterias inside, but when they did it was always hectic.

China awkwardly cleared his throat. "So, aru, have you had a chance to go sightseeing yet?" As old as China was, he always got dragged into the whole tourist thing by South Korea. He had long ago resigned himself to it.

"Not yet," she answered in a quiet voice. "I've been meaning to go to new art museum downtown, but bruder is very busy now." She seemed almost embarrassed to admit this, but Yao understood.

They moved to sit at the far end of a table, down a few feet from Hong Kong, Thailand, South Korea, Vietnam, and Taiwan. He nodded at them briefly, then turned his attention back to the country in front of him.

"Aru, it's always better to go with someone else." It was not very hard to see that while Switzerland clearly loved his sister, his over-protectedness sometimes hurt her more than it helped her.


	8. Bruising

And it's the feeling of his mouth, brutally pushing against his own, that reminds him why they can't keep doing this. It's the dark bruises bitten into his skin, and he should really push him away and make him stop but it feels so good and he doesn't want it to end but he knows it should.

He reasons with himself, just one more kiss, just one more minute of this, but then his legs are hitched up and the underside of his left thigh is grasped tightly in a broad hand.

The blond is pushed against the wall, the taller man's left hand pressed between his back and solid plaster, and he gasps into the kiss, if it could be called that, in surprise. That's a mistake, though, as it loses him the ground he had fiercely fought for with swiping tongue and dragging teeth.

His fingers wind even tighter in the almost white locks grasped between them, and he contemplates pushing the other man away for just a second… And then he succumbs to temptation and pulls the other man even closer, drawing a moan muffled by lips.

He aggressively shoves his head forward, causing the top edge of his glasses to knock against the ridge of the man's pale eyebrow. Lilac eyes glare at him and his captured thigh receives a slight clench.

His lips form the semblance of a smirk before the insistent force pushing upon them changes their shape, and he reaches down with his hands to begin unbuttoning the shirt in front of him.


	9. Sculpture

**Hahahaha, I tried.**

* * *

He has a tendency of falling asleep during school, and this is driven by his inability to sleep at night. (No matter how long he keeps his eyes shut and lies there, no matter what pills he takes.)

Due to this, Herakles doesn't really socialize much; the most social interaction he has daily is usually with that Turkish asswipe, and beyond that, murmuring apologies to the people he bumps into in the halls and answering questions in class when he can be bothered to stay awake. He couldn't tell you the names of most of his classmates if his life depended on it.

Really, he only bothers with art—the only class whose material he can't learn or work on at home. He has an almost single-minded passion for working in that class, so even there he doesn't participate in or pay attention to the discussion held by his classmates.

The teacher assigns broad ideas and leaves the students free to chose whatever media they want to work with, and Herakles most often chooses clay. The newest project is on dance.

He's working on the detail work for a sculpture of a ballerina, more specifically on the pattern of her bodice, and the muscles in his hands are almost cramping from how steady he's trying to hold the tool between his fingers. Then there's a bump against the table he's sitting at and his arm moves with it, marring the surface of the clay as well as most of the detail he had already done with an erratic line.

Herakles looks up with a growl already forming on his lips to see a shorter classmate staring at him with wide brown eyes, a slack jaw, and an expression of horror and mortification. His ire is drawn by smothered laughter at the table next to him, and his eye catches the movement of a foot retreating from the aisle to back under a table.  
"I'm-I'm so sorry."

A slow and deep exhalation leaves the sleepy teen, and he nods. He grabs a bit of slip with his fingers and uses it to smooth over the area ruined, applying the slightest bit of pressure.

"It's not your fault."

The teen's blush darkens and he stumbles out, "Is there any way I can help you fix it?"

"Not really…. Thank you for the offer." A moment of silence. "If you're just going to stand there, you might as well sit down." He barely looks up from the curve of a sculpted shoulder blade as he says this, but Herakles hears the hesitating scrape of a stool's legs across linoleum.

There are sounds of paper and pens being gently placed on the table, and then relative silence falls over the table.

Towards the end of the class, Herakles has managed to redo the work that had been erased, and he's wrapping the sculpture carefully in plastic bags to keep it from drying out until the next class. After returning the wrapped clay to a rack in the supplies room, he's wiping up his side of the table when he happens to look up and see the work of the teen that had been sitting across from him. His paper—Herakles absently notices that it's Bristol board—has a couple depicted in ink with the female dipped backwards, leg wrapped around the male holding her, as they perform something that looks like the tango. The slope of the limbs is exquisite, and though there is not yet color the detail and shading is remarkable.

The Greek compliments the other in a low voice, and right as the other is about to respond the bell rings and he moves towards the door. He's halfway down the hall when the Asian catches up to him, moving to match the other's long and steady stride.

"Thank you. I'm sorry again, about your project."

He makes a humming noise in response.

"...I-I'm Kiku, by the way."

* * *

**Outtake: "His paper—Herakles absently notices that it's Bristol board—has a girl depicted in ink twerking."**

**-Nightquills **


End file.
